


heroism interrupted

by renecdote



Series: hc_bingo 2020 [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bank Robbery, Gen, Helplessness, Hurt/Comfort, robin tim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:35:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27611468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renecdote/pseuds/renecdote
Summary: The worst thing was, he didn’t even have a cell phone. He was literally trapped and helpless. If he was out as Robin, he’d have a dozen different tools and gadgets he could use. But as Tim Drake? He was nothing.So he sat. And he listened. And he waited.(And he tried not to be too scared.)Tim and Bruce get caught in a bank robbery.
Series: hc_bingo 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1799395
Comments: 10
Kudos: 125





	heroism interrupted

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a tumblr prompt ("Nothing is going to happen to you."). Also fills the 'caught in a robbery' square on my hurt/comfort bingo card.

Tim pressed his face against his knees and tried not to breathe. Logically, he knew it was unlikely they would hear him breathing, not when they weren’t listening for it, but everything felt louder in here, the smallest sounds echoing off the cold concrete. The whisper of his clothing against his skin, the drip of the leaking paint tin in the corner; it all beat against Tim’s ears with the force of a thousand drums.

_Think_ , he kept telling himself. _Just calm down and think._

But every time he tried to think of a plan, every time he conjured an image of the room outside or the mask-clad thieves, it brought with it Bruce’s face, bloody and scared in that last second before he was dragged away. The fear was probably an act, but Tim wasn’t sure. Bruce was Batman, he shouldn’t be scared of a few measly bank robbers, but Tim still wasn’t good at reading his expressions so maybe the fear was real. 

(“If you do this,” Bruce said when Tim put on his very own cape for the first time, “I can’t promise nothing will happen to you.”

His voice had been heavy and Tim had thought about Jason Todd’s widely-reported death, thought about all the details the papers hadn’t covered, and he’d said, “I know.”

He just hadn’t thought that when his beginner’s luck finally ran out, he wouldn’t be wearing the cape at all.)

(He really wished he was wearing the cape.)

There had only been seconds and while Tim froze, Bruce acted without hesitation. He took Tim by the arm, walked him quickly but calmly through to the next office, then out of that door into a new corridor. There was a storage cupboard there and Bruce jimmied the lock while Tim looked anxiously back the way they’d come. He thought they were both going in, that maybe Bruce was going to do a Superman and burst back out in full Batman regalia, or they were just going to hide out long enough to call for help, but when the lock popped open, Bruce pushed Tim inside alone.

“Stay here,” he hissed. “Do not move until I get you. Do you understand?”

Tim wanted to argue, but he wasn’t stupid and the shouting to get on the ground in the foyer had already begun. There wasn’t time for Tim to insist he could help, so he didn’t, he just nodded. 

Then he watched as Bruce let himself be grabbed by the thieves sweeping the offices, playing the clueless and scared billionaire just here to close an account. He watched while Bruce held out his hands peaceably and one of the thieves punched him hard enough to smash his face into a glass door anyway. He watched the blood run down Bruce’s temple and stain his white suit. He watched the men drag him away. He watched. All he did was _watch_.

Maybe that was all he was good for. 

The worst thing was, he didn’t even have a cell phone. He was literally trapped and helpless. If he was out as Robin, he’d have a dozen different tools and gadgets he could use. But as Tim Drake? He was nothing.

So he sat. And he listened. And he waited.

(And he tried not to be too scared.)

Bruce was probably face-down on the floor with everyone else, blood dripping on the polished grey marble. Was he evaluating all the thieves’ weak points? Was he assessing all the objects he could use as weapons in the area? Or was he already making his move, so sneaky that neither Tim nor the bad guys could hear him taking them out one by one?

The minutes stretched out, each one feeling longer than the last. Tim was holding himself so still it hurt. Sometimes he thought he heard the squeak of footsteps nearby, but it was probably his imagination.

And then it wasn’t—there were definitely footsteps. Two sets of them, one loud and heavy, the other shuffling, stumbling. _Scared_ , Tim realised. They stopped right outside the storage cupboard and Tim held his breath. Did they know he was here? Oh god, were they going to drag him out and kill him in front of Bruce? 

“Hurry up,” a voice snarled.

Tim’s heart was pounding in his chest. He hoped they couldn’t hear it. 

A door opened, but it wasn’t the cupboard, it was the office door opposite his hiding place. A desk drawer dragged was open, contents rattling, and there was the jangle of keys against metal. 

“It’s—it’s this one.” A different voice, squeaky, trembling, definitely scared, maybe even crying. “It’s a master key, it should work for all the—”

The voice broke off into a yelp and Tim curled himself tighter. Adrenaline was thrumming; he wanted to do something, he wanted to help, he wanted—

But there was nothing he could do. They were right there, less than ten feet away, and there was nothing he could do except listen. 

“Let’s go,” the first voice—definitely one of the thieves— said, and their footsteps retreated back toward the foyer, the scared employee’s dragging even more. 

Bruce should have done something by now, Tim thought. How long had it been? Twenty minutes? More? There was a sick feeling growing in his stomach. If Bruce hadn’t done something by now, there had to be a reason. Was he too badly hurt? He hit his head, he’d been bleeding, maybe he had a concussion, or he was bleeding into his brain, or—

He swallowed the bubbling panic. No. No. Bruce was fine. He was just waiting for the right moment. He was fine.

He was Batman; of course he was fine.

God, Tim wished he had a cell phone.

It was too silent now. He strained, listening for anything. He thought even screams would be better than the unnatural silence—the calm before the storm—then immediately felt guilty for thinking that. Silence could be good, he reminded himself. Silence meant nobody was screaming, or being shot at. Those were both very good things.

The anticipation was killing him though. Something, _anything_ , had to be better than sitting here in choked silence, waiting for—

The sudden cacophony of noise took Tim by surprise. He jumped, banging his head on the shelving he was tucked in beside. He hissed, sucking in air through his teeth. _Ouch_.

“GCPD! Put your weapons down!”

Oh thank god. Tim sagged, tension bleeding out of him so fast he thought he might puddle on the floor like the still-dripping paint in the corner. Adrenaline fizzled out into tremors. He knew he should get up, the cavalry had arrived, but he wasn’t sure he could stand so he just sat there, shaky with relief, until the door was pulled open.

“Tim? Are you—?”

“I’m fine,” he was quick to say. “B, I’m fine, are you—?”

Bruce pulled him to his feet and into a hug in one swift movement. Tim couldn’t stop shaking. He clung to Bruce and Bruce seemed to cling just as tightly back. Maybe he was shaking too, it was hard to tell.

“It’s okay,” he kept saying. “We’re okay, everything is okay.”

And finally, it was.


End file.
